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  1. 2 points
    Today was the day: the day Draquesha would turn ten years of age! At ten she would be able to finally say which family job she would pursue -- whether she would join her father's family as hunters or follow after her mother as a shaman. Though they knew long before that she, unlike her brothers, lacked the magical aptitude to follow in her mother's footsteps, she finally had the opportunity to become more than her failings. She had spent the last week, no the last month, looking forward to her birthday. Her birthday meant that there was finally a day for JUST her! No brothers, no parents. No. This was her time. Finally! She didn't have to worry about rocks being thrown at her face or wayward magic used to encase her bow and arrows. No. Today, she could relax. She could enjoy today. She had stayed up all night, waiting eagerly as the moon came and went. She lay in her little pile of blankets on the ground, staring up at the ceiling of their thatched hut giddily. Father would let her use his bow today! Father would take her out to hunts now! She could stand in the spotlight now, as the only hunter in the family now! The little troll shoots up immediately, blankets tossed aside, pillows thrown asunder, as the light of the sun finally begins to stream into her room. Little Draq had risen before anyone else had, setting out to get her daily chores finished. She whistled a cheerful tune, brushing the dirt away from their front walk and dancing in the rising sun. As she was spinning, arms out around her, and kicking up more dirt than she was intending to sweep away, a pair of strong, adult arms picks the tiny troll up and pulls her in for the biggest, warmest hug she had ever remembered. The tiny troll found herself erupting into a sea of giggles, arms wriggling to try getting out of the hold that had her. Who was it? Who had a hold of her? Was it her shitty brother? Was it one of her parents? Maybe it was an uncle or an aunt. She never did find out. Without another word, the arms carry Draquesha inside to their little worn hut. The hut is simple, with two three rooms: one for her parents, one for her, and one for her brothers. Somehow she'd managed to luck out at get a room alone. Somehow. She figured it was because she was the only girl. Or maybe because she was the nonmagical child. The center room was well decorated, with many handmade ornaments and knickknacks collected throughout her family's many years on the Isles. Bright red and blue masks with white accents, the skull of an old murloc long since killed, beads, and stone carvings. On the walls hung a long bow with a quiver of arrows, a fair few more lain upon a nearby table that were being worked on. It was simple, rustic, but it screamed of home to the little troll. As the adult holding her brought her inside, Draquesha couldn't help but smile when she saw the baked desserts sitting on their meager dining table. The family hadn't much, but they always did their best for special occasions. Her mother had sent her away the night before to play at a family friend's home to allow her to make the birthday treats without a little troll managing to get her little fingers in every single pie. Once she were finally free of the horrid adult's arms, Draquesha ran up to the table that she was finally taller than, and got a good look and smell of what was waiting in her near future: a pie with a pinched crust, filled with a sweet and sticky coconut mix; a warm coconut cake with spices that her mother had gathered the week before; and a sort of sugary sweet, sticky, and coconutty bar that was dyed bright green (the little troll's favorite color!). Excited, wiggly fingers reach out, trying to steal a few of the treats, before being carefully swatted away. A finger is waggled in her face, 'no, not yet'. First, she had family to greet and gifts to receive! She had always hated this part. The same conversation, over and over and over again. The well-wishes followed by the simple, shallow words exchanged between parties. Were they really interested in her? Did they actually want to know how she were doing or were they posturing for her parents' sake? She had been given paper and furs, a skull headdress, a necklace made of shells. It was all the same thing every year! Nobody knew her or they would have known she didn't need this! As she finally rounded on the last relative, she found a man holding a small, wooden cage. He was an uncle, one of her father's many brothers from the Echo Isles. Her mother's family were never able to attend, not that little Draquesha minded. It meant less gifts, but it also meant less talking. Her uncle looked at her from where he sat upon the floor, legs crossed near the center of the room. In the cooler months, they might have had a fire here, but in the heat of the summer that was unheard of. As all in her father's family were, the man was a hunter and the injuries he sported proved as much: a patch over an eye he had lost from his son's missed arrow; a nose broken so many times it looked like it an angry zigzag; and a missing finger on his already few fingered left hand. Draquesha bowed respectfully to her uncle, taking a seat in front of him and crossing her legs. The cage is slid towards her and she looked at it curiously. The cage makes a sort of excited chirping, clicking noise. Draquesha gasps, holding her head closer to the cage and poking a finger inside... only for it to get bitten by whatever was inside! She yelps in surprise, trying to get the finger back from the little creature inside. When she finally gets the finger back, she waggles it at the creature inside the cage, 'no, don't do that! That was mean!". She finally gets a closer look inside the cage, finding a newly hatched raptor: bright red with blue and green accents. Fluorescent blue eyes stared back at her, sizing her up. Assessing if she were worthy of it. She stared back, determined. They kept this little staring contest up for what seemed like ages, until a hand tapped at her shoulder and she looked up to see that same uncle gesturing for the cage. When she gives it back, he cracks it open and the little raptor she'd just had a staring contest with began to run around the room, chirping at everyone present, before returning to Draquesha and squeaking at her loudly. As she tries to pick the little monster up, her little monster now, it would try biting at her again. She smiled brightly, the most genuine smile she had sported since she'd begun speaking to the relatives. The little raptor bites at her legs as she finally stuffs her face with coconutty cakes, fingers covered in the shredded fruit when suddenly ouch! That one had hurt! He'd grabbed hold of her ankle and scratched her. Uphill battle with this little one, it seemed. She would work on that. No, they would work on that.
  2. 1 point
    It's time for another rousing Dating Auction, hosted by the magnificent Mozzi (Draq), the lovely Libelle (Sabeinne), the marvelous Mardalius (Mard, duh), and of course, the fantastic Phyruss (Cobrak)! It will be held at 5 PST/ 8 EST on Jan 23 in Sagehaven, Bastion. How does it work? We present the best and most bodacious of bachelors and bachelorettes, and bidders cast their gold to win time with them at the place of the bidder's choosing! It doesn't have to be romantic, it can be a friendly discourse or just a chance to meet someone you've never had a chance to talk with! (OOC contact should be considered to find out available times between the winning bidder and their date!) How do I audition to be auctioned off? Easy! Send the name of the character you want to be auctioned to one of our hosts (preferably in Discord--contact Sabeinne if you need help accessing the TNG Discord community), limit to one per player, along with a tagline what their likes/dislikes are, what their favorite hobby is, and where they would like to be whisked away to! What are the rules of the bids? We will be using in-game gold for bids. Beginning at the opening of bids, each potential bidder must offer a minimum of 25g per bid cast. Which means, opening bid is 25g, and you can increase your bid to 50, or 80, or 100, or whatever so long as it is more or equal to 25g. The auction for a person stops when either A) A Five count between bids occurs. B) Two minutes pass, in which case, highest current bid wins. C) The maximum bid total of 1,000g is reached. [If two or more bidders both go the maximum, break out the dice cause it's time for Boulder, Parchment, Shears!]
  3. 1 point
    Hi there and welcome :) Happy story writing!
  4. 1 point
    Full Name: Ral’rush of the Darkspear Nicknames: Rush, Ral, the Blood Drinker Date of Birth: springtime in the year 0, around the time when the Dark Portal opened Age: Mid thirties Race: jungle troll Gender: male Hair: dull red Skin: light blue Eyes: dull red Height: 8’4” / 254 cm Weight: 450 lbs / 204 kg Place of residence: nameless Darkspear village in Dustwallow Marsh, Kalimdor Place of Birth: cluster of huts on the coast of Stranglethorn Vale, Eastern Kingdoms Known Relatives: numerous; his parents are alive, and his multiple siblings and cousins are all married with kids. He’s also been married to the same woman since the sinking of Darkspear Isle. Religion/Philosophy: confused and non-observant, though he respects his family’s veneration of the loa Hir’eek Occupation: career soldier, wandering do-gooder, and a fungus farmer when not at war Group/Guild affiliation: none (I’ve been playing since vanilla and never spent any considerable time in guilds) Guild Rank: n/a Enemies: surprisingly few among the Alliance; most of his enemies are former commanding officers or demons whom he killed multiple times Likes: humid weather, arguing about the news, competitions in crowded and noisy taverns Favorite Foods: cat meat, fluffy puppies, stinky mushrooms, broccoli-flavored ice cream Favorite Drinks: cactus punch, orange juice, the blood of his enemies Favorite Colors: red and black Weapons of Choice: a two-handed mace as his primary weapon for attacking other heavy infantry, though he always keeps two cutting blades as sidearms such as machetes or falchions Dislikes: disunity, ending friendships, antisocial behavior (he’s a hypocrite there), stereotypes Hobbies: mount racing, animal fights, liar’s dice Physical Features: though of average height for a Darkspear, Rush is of heavier build, fitting the archetype of the stronger, hardier berserkers. He doesn’t do much with his hair and beard, shaving everything off when going on the march, letting it all grow back until it gets in the way of fighting, and then shaving everything again. His clothing style tends to be very primitive, and other trolls as well as orcs can usually identify him as a villager by his unstitched garments. Special Abilities: his stamina is his pride and joy; it’s extremely rare that he grows tired of physical activity. He’s also exceedingly difficult to render unconscious without poison or magic (though he’s also rather vulnerable to the latter two things). He’s also regenerated from particularly horrible injuries which should have killed him, albeit over a slow healing process. Positive Personality Traits: loyal, helpful, open-minded (for a troll), dependable Negative Personality Traits: poorly educated, follower personality, indecisive, excessively cruel when angered Misc. Quirks: he experiences visual distress when pushed to rebel against authority; he’ll commit acts he knows are wrong when ordered unless the act is extreme, or if he sees other people rebelling first. Played by What Famous Person: Ron Perlman! And ONLY Ron Perlman! Theme Songs: Listen to this like a soundtrack while reading, I guess? History: very little about Rush’s story is unique or out of the ordinary. The story of contemporary Azeroth’s armed conflict is like the story of his life. His family having boarded the large galley ships with the orcs, Rush joined the Horde and participated in the Third and Fourth Wars, the War in Outland, the Siege of Orgrimmar, the Wars against the Iron Horde and the Burning Legion, and the War against the Jailer’s forces. In between wartime, he lives at a village of mostly Darkspear trolls in northern Dustwallow, where his family farms fungus in a stagnant swamp.
  5. 1 point
    Sometimes he cursed the days that bled into each other one after the other. When he had something to do the time was well spent and the inability to sleep was a blessing. But when the holidays approached it left him with endless amounts of time to check the main road and see if he was coming. For the hundredth time that day alone he found himself too distracted to do anything more than listlessly fiddle with his lab equipment. The holidays were always a hard time for him. What was a feast to a man who barely ate? What was snow to a man who hardly felt the cold? In these times he rarely felt the spirit that everyone else was infused with. The only ones who brought a modicum of that cheer into his empty eyes were his family. His wife had long lost her sympathy for his seasonal gloom. Soon enough she would start baring her teeth when he wasn't looking, then it would turn to growling and finally a demand to just stop fretting. For his own sanity and hers, he had thrown himself into a new task of preparing the small feast for the two, hopefully three, of them. If nothing else the chopping blade demanded your focus. Vegetables were diced, almonds slivered, potatoes chopped, steamed and mashed and mixed with an unhealthy amount of butter. "He's not coming." Selris finally murmured, setting the bowl down with a resolute thunk. His wife would look up and narrow her eyes, silently demanding an explanation. "You remember the last time we saw him, the argument... HE hasn't written a letter in months. I know he's going to blame it on me-" Before he could go into a full rant, he was struck in the back of his head with a wooden spoon. "...Fair enough but you know I am right." He sighed, offering a soft smile under the threat of another bonk. Satisfied, his wife turned back towards the fat bird on the flame. Dusk was falling and the meal in its entirety had just hit the table when three soft knocks sounded at the front door. The two of them sprang from the table to answer it, moving in sync towards the entrance. The door swung open wide to reveal the travel weary orc. His armor was scuffed, his eyes tired, and more than a few patches of his exposed skin were covered in dirty bandages. Before he could even begin to offer an explanation or a muttered, awkward rant, he would find himself embraced by his parents. Appearances did not matter, neither did the latest feats. In that moment, the family had become whole once again. For one evening, the arguments could rest. "Welcome home, Gunny." The Father murmured softly, ushering the young orc inside out of the cold.
  6. 1 point
    Full Name: Bronwen McGreynor Nicknames: Brownie, Red Age: Around 30? perhaps a year or few younger. Race: Human Gender: Woman Hair: Dark Red Skin: Quite pale, but not sickly Eyes: Forest Green Height: The tall side of average Body Type: Lithe Place of residence: Currently Ironforge Place of Birth: Stormwind, or close to it. Known Relatives: None living that she knows of. Religion/Philosophy: Look out for yourself because no one else is going to. Occupation: Former SI:7, basically an assassin merc living off her savings now. Group/Guild affiliation: None known currently Likes: Uh, does she even like anything? She seems to like cats. Favorite Foods: Dried fruits and meats. Easy to carry, won’t go bad too quickly. Favorite Drinks: Nothing too strong, but she has no preference whether it’s booze or water. Favorite Colors: Any dark and earthy colors. Hobbies: Modifying her own armor. Tinkering. Special Abilities: She is very proud of how great at lying and petty thievery she is. Weapons of Choice: She’s great with daggers, though she’s learning to get good with rifles. Dislikes: She dislikes the ruling class and the military. She dislikes nobles. She hates undead of any type, even those among the Alliance though she’ll be civil with them. She trusts neither paladins nor warlocks. Physical Features: Bronwen has some serious RBF. She constantly looks entirely pissed, even if she very clearly isn’t otherwise (someone could tell if in conversation, for example). Her red hair is cut rather short, and freckles dot her face mostly concentrated across her nose and cheekbones. She's quite thin, bordering somewhere near the neighborhood of not-eating-enough thin and too-many-drugs thin, but she looks a little too healthy for it to solidly be one of those, if that makes sense. Two deep scars cut down the left side of her face near the ear from temple to jaw, one of the claw marks being twice as long as the one in front of it. She’s also very often seen with a dark leather sling secured at her right shoulder that crosses her body and helps to support her left arm at the elbow. It’s mostly just for basic support for her left shoulder, as the arm itself generally doesn’t look unusable. Positive Personality Traits: If she has any sort of a sense of obligation to someone, she’ll be very strictly loyal to them until either the obligation is fulfilled or the person does something to break their bond (if it could be called that). She’s very selfless, generous and altruistic, but only when it comes to people that have very little. Negative Personality Traits: She trusts no one, or rather it takes a very long time to earn her trust. She’s very quick to bail on people if she doesn’t feel she holds any sort of obligation to them, even in pretty serious circumstances. She’s very mean at times and often for no apparent reason. Misc. Quirks: She is always sharply aware of her surroundings, but if she’s outside on clear nights her immediate attention is fixed on the stars. She seems extremely uncomfortable near Stormwind’s cathedral, or any other chapel or abbey, but she’ll sometimes loiter outside of one while deep in thought for a time before leaving. She doesn’t typically go inside without a real reason. History and Hooks!: Bronwen was made an orphan when her Defias parents got wrecked by some band of Stormwind’s forces near the border of Westfall. She’s the spitting image of her mother and might be vaguely recognizable by someone that would have been familiar with the Brotherhood in the time following their uprising. Her mother wasn’t very important to the Defias as a whole, but she was quite charismatic and popular in some circles. She was cared for by an orphanage for a short time before being left to fend for herself on the streets, and became quite good at stealing what she needed to survive. Thanks to her crimey origins, she idolized the Defias remnants and whatever criminals she’d come to meet in the city. Stealing to survive eventually became stealing for pay, and then stealing for those rich enough that they didn’t want to bother going into increasingly dangerous situations themselves. Stealing became killing, and killing earned her higher-paying jobs and a lowly but relatively comfortable position in SI:7. She was once married to an Alliance sergeant that perished in Northrend thanks to a scourge ambush, and he nearly took her along with him. Her idealism waned completely and she became the cold, obstinate, and angry person she still is now. Since her experiences in Northrend, she has focused on killing any undead she came across, Forsaken or not. The Horde as a whole were always a large target in her sights, and she never needed any justification for fighting them past a. they are enemies of the Alliance and b. they maintain the undead among their ranks. She continued to fight for SI:7 until she was betrayed in Uldum. A trusted operative she had been partnered with many times throughout the years exposed her to a large group of Aqir they were monitoring, leaving Bronwen and her nightsaber companion that she was gifted during her marriage to fight a losing battle. Kyris died, but the most bitter of luck saw her eventually rescued by a dwarf woman that lived in the desert. Bronwen was assumed dead, and several factors of her attempted murder and sudden disintegration of her life back in Stormwind told her that specific people wanted her out of the picture. So now she keeps her head down and while she recovers lets them think she’s dead. Easy! Theme Songs: Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7cCtX8LJth5mV3rt7rTLCv?si=AWhd60jPTmWwH2Ey27wuWA Bronwen and also chibi stabby Bronwen both by https://twitter.com/cryptid_artist
  7. 1 point
    9.16.20 Fifteen years. That’s how old The Grim is now. Only four months after it was formed, I joined them. I never thought it would take this long to achieve the goal of peace through annihilation. I never thought I would last this long either. We all got together tonight, those of us that are still here, and listened to Awatu talk about The Grim anniversary. I told the story of the King of Rats. And then we all named people we remembered who were lost to us. So many lost to us. I have felt that loss keenly over the years, but to hear those names in so many other voices….. Sometimes, as I find myself looking more to the past than to the future, I wonder if I’ve been here too long. Muatah would scold me for wasting time dwelling on the past. Yichimet would give me wise words of solace. Mohan and his wolf Ohoye would give comfort just in their strong, steady presence. I still miss them all. So much. Sammuel, the first Grim I ever met. Ravovich, The Bear, who taught me how to fight as part of a team. Abric, the Enforcer, who trained me to be a better rogue. Grolish, who taught me how to read. Chavi, who showed me that even in undeath, there could still be wonder and joy. Cessily and the other early elves who formed my hatred of the race. Kiannis, Elek, Cen, and Orphyn, who proved there could be exceptions to that. Bloodscream. Skash. Malstrom. Maurt. Regna’netah. Warneshi. Leyu’jin. Cristok. Laughingcrow. Chaindog. Hektar. Kaz. Emmons. Inzema. Atticus. Drinn. Trilok. The Triplets. Gex. Thrysta. Gazreeth. So many others. Even my own twin, Anaie, hasn’t been seen in several months. So many good Grims come and gone. Dead or in some other way, lost to us now. And yet, the Mandate still stands as long as there are those who still believe in it’s purpose. The Grim who remain, and the new ones who have joined in recent years, have taken up the call. “PEACE THROUGH ANNIHILATION” still rings through the land. And always will.
  8. 1 point
    September 12th: "It wasn't my fault" The statement was as short as reminding me to pick up onions before leaving the city. Our child was a boy, he died. It's not my fault. Years ago, Lilliana stepped out of my life without a word. At a time when she could have gone into labor at any second. She stepped out and I did not hear anything but vague mentions of her for years. I tried to reach out but nothing came of it. I received no word of his birth, I received no word of how she has been throughout these years. Nothing. I thought I had gotten over it. I had moved on, I had found love again and finally built what I thought I would have had with her. Then she appears for a drink with Khorvis. The two stay a while and chat as I struggle to come up with anything to say... What could I have even said? Would it have mattered with her? She would have laughed it off or ducked the question. Yet that isn't fair to her. I could see the mask cracking. The fact that she reached out then spoke something of how she had changed. Even if slightly. But right now I can't think about it. I can't praise how she still seems to care when all I have is an aching void. I never even got to meet him and now I never will. It hurts. I hurts because I know of all the things she's ever told me. This is the truth. Payback List: Me: If I had not driven her away, would I have been there to stop it from happening?
  9. 1 point
    I slammed the door behind me and blocked it with my back. My heart was racing so fast I thought it would leap from my throat. "I did it. I killed him," I managed between panting breaths. "Killed who?" he asked, not even looking up from his book. "You know who," I hissed. He calmly closed his book, laid it on the side table, then sat forward with his hands on his knees and grinned at me. "No," he said with an exaggerated tone of disbelief. "You don't have that in you. You're too good and obedient, choir boy. You couldn't kill someone, no matter how much you hate them." I covered my ears with my hands. "Shut up shut up shut up. I did kill him. He's dead. What am I going to do?" I could hear the pleading in my voice and it made me feel sick, but desperation kept me standing. He sighed and stood up. "Don't beg, choir boy. Never beg. It's gross. Let's go see what kind of mess you made." I wanted to shout him down, to tell him he was wrong, but I was too relieved that he agreed to help me. It was difficult to feel anything other than worthless as I followed behind him. --- I folded my arms across my chest. He was clearly being obtuse. "Listen," he said. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. "This is not something I am ever going to understand. I know people say they hear the elements, but as far as I'm concerned the only voices they are actually hearing are their own." I rolled my eyes. "I have never heard the elements in my life, yet fire and water do as I ask." I slammed my hand down on the page between us. The words "Because you abuse them" formed. He leaned back. "If you truly believe that, why did you ever ask for my help?" I opened my mouth, both in shock and that old habit, a reaction when not having anything to say. I had no answer for him. He sighed. "The voices you heard then were the voices of the world, yes, but they were the magic that lives within it, magic you can know, and understand, and use, magic you can take apart and put back together, magic you can analyze, categorize, and calculate. It was magic speaking to you, not some sort of being with thoughts of its own. It was the world and yourself." I frowned and looked down at the page between us. "If that's true, then no one cut me off from anything, and vengeance is pointless," I made it say. He didn't answer immediately, and I held my silence, staring down at my words. When I looked up at him, he was staring at me, a deep frown etching his arrogant face. "Yes," he said. "But then everything..." He waved at me dismissively, simultaneously cutting me off and sparking anger in me. "You will need time. Do not do anything rash," he ordered, though his tone was more conciliatory than commanding. "I will help you with whatever you need. You will prove me right or prove me wrong before you choose what to do with this knowledge." --- "Stop crying," his father demanded. We were in a cramped white room, me, him, his father. I was having a mental breakdown. I was sure my life was over. They would demand I suffer. If they didn't kill me outright, they would clap me in chains for the rest of my life. "Did you mean to do this?" "N-no! Of course not!" I stammered. "Why would I--" His father crouched down, put his hands on my shoulders, and spoke very slowly. "Take a deep breath, then ask yourself the question again. Did you mean to do this?" I did as he asked, took a deep breath, closed my eyes and thought about the sequence of events that led me to this place. "Yes," I said quietly. The calm that settled in place of his father's hands when he took them from my shoulders was eerie and cold. "Why?" his father asked. "Because I hate him." His father stared me down. "Even now that he is gone forever?" "Yes," I answered clearly. There was silence from everyone in the room. He was quiet, then looked up at his father and said, "Thank you." His father nodded curtly, then opened the door and issued orders to whoever was outside. "There was an unfortunate accident. There was no crime here," his father said in a commanding voice. The door closed, leaving the two of us behind. I fell against the wall and slid to the ground. He put his hands on my shoulders as his father had. "You'll be fine," he said with a smile. "I know, because I always am." My face was still wet with tears when I looked at him, but I smiled back. "You're right," I said. "We'll be fine. Thank you." --- I stared in awe as the city opened up before me. I had never seen anything like it. I could see he was trying not to smile at my reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched in that way it does. "Beautiful," I signed. "All of it is yours," he said. "Liar," I signed back at him, but I knew what he meant. The libraries, the people, the freedom to learn who I was, to decide who I was, and all of it without burning any bridges yet, all of it with the excuse of self-betterment for the cause. Not that anyone would ask. Like him, I did not make friends. But this place, this city that floated above the violence would keep me safe. No, he would keep me safe. If anything went wrong, he would put himself at risk to help me, as he had now several times. I stared up at him. I couldn't help but wonder what he gained, but the first time he agreed to help me, I decided then never to ask him why. Just in case the knowing broke the spell. I learned that knowing could break a lot of spells. He just nodded. "Let's get you moved in, shall we?" I nodded back, then looked at my feet as I followed him.
  10. 1 point
    Qabian stood leaning against the back wall of the embassy with a handful of other hangers-on as the so-called leadership of the Horde discussed their armistice. How he had managed to get there or what right he had to be there, no one seemed to question in the moment. A little peace between the Horde and the Alliance never stopped the Grim. Never stopped him, either, although other things did, now and then. Lor'themar acting as the speaker made Qabian feel vaguely ill. He wondered where Rommath was. The Grand Magister probably knew the whole debacle would provoke physical disgust, especially given what was going on with Dar'khan's little gang of disciples multiplying through Stormwind, and had the good sense to stay home. But peace and co-operation came in waves, ebbed and flowed. The more co-operation between the Horde and the Alliance, the greater the threat on the horizon seemed to be, and Qabian couldn't help notice the sense of foreboding, not just in himself, but in everyone in the room, and outside in the city beyond. Sylvanas' disappearance exacerbated that. Whatever was coming next was going to be bad, and she was either going to be the catalyst or woven inextricably into it, as Garrosh had been before her. The story was getting tired, but the necessity of survival superseded everything else. Qabian stepped quietly outside before the ambassadors finished speaking, once he realized Thrall was going to force a council on them. Seeing how well that had worked out for the Forsaken recently, clearly it needed to be modeled. Kumai waited for him near the gate. "You and I aren't to speak to each other anymore, remember?" Qabian said with a frown as he approached her. Kumai smirked at him. "Haha, very funny," he answered her smirk with a roll of his eyes and a scowl. They had taken on each other's mannerisms and their ability to communicate without saying anything was useful. Kumai reached into a pouch at her side, then tossed a pinch of soft dust in the air, before using her fingers and a shimmer of heat to weave it into a shape: the knives and shadows of the Grim. Behind the floating image, Kumai raised an eyebrow at Qabian. Qabian shook his head. "I don't know. There is always an ebb and flow to such work, and in theory, now is the time to prepare as the horizon promises there will be much to do, but..." He hesitated, looking past Kumai around the rough, omnipresent browns of Durotar stone. "Nazjatar has changed everything irrevocably. For me," he amended. "I may continue my project in Northrend, pretend it can hold my attention indefinitely when there is really no way that it can, but at least it is something to occupy my mind between the everyday struggles while we await that horizon's approach." He turned away from the embassy and the orc he was speaking to. She was one of the few people he could consider a friend without them ever insisting he address them as such, but the urge to pull away from even those few seemed to increase every day. She stepped up behind him and put her hand on his arm. "You have not yet found your Nazjatar. Or you have and you have already moved beyond it," Qabian said quietly. He didn't flinch from her touch, but he spoke to Kumai without looking at her. "I think I may need to find my way on my own." Kumai held her palm out in front of Qabian's chest with the Grim symbol still floating above it. The dust shifted its shape, showing a series of figures, all of them women: a shorter proportioned elf figure with a lot of curves, a tall figure with much longer ears and that characteristic shal'dorei arrogance in her stance, a small raggedy bony figure with knives aggressively stabbing at the air, a few other elves of varying shapes in various stances suggesting violence, then a small copy of herself right down to the little dust figure floating above her copy's hand. Qabian watched the series of images, then sighed. "I know. I am not alone. But I should be." He sidestepped Kumai's incoming punch with a curt laugh. "I know, I know. I know where to find help if I need it, but I don't even know if I want help at this point. We must wait and see. No, I must wait and see. I will grow into my role as a wizard locking himself away in a tower. You must go ahead without me." Kumai nodded. She let her dust lose its magic and gather in her palm, then closed her fist around it. The two Horde mages gave each other simultaneous lazy salutes, as if they'd practiced synchronizing the gesture and the mirrored smirks that followed before they turned away from each other, walking separate ways out into the city.
  11. 1 point
    The room is dark, only the faint glow of some herbs growing in the windowsill and the moon’s light illuminating the room. A fine, ornate desk of copper and wood takes up most of it, the room small with most of its space crowded in by bookshelves, paintings, and other mementos throughout the years. So obviously her space, and hers alone, noted by all of the small knick knacks and hand me down items on display. A mish mash of little treasured things speckled between medals and trophies of note. The door clicks closed behind her and lamps immediately hum to life, casting the stone walls and marble floor into a cocoon of warmth, the light reflecting off of her skin and giving it a healthy glow that’s been missing from it for the last few weeks. As she shuffles to the plush velvet chair of red she passes by her reflection in an old mirror, the edges frayed and black with age, but she quickly moves on past, not wanting to dwell on her gaunt cheeks or dimmed eyes. The last few years had not been kind to her. Multiple wars, a new love and heartbreak all in one, loss of friends, family, and one of her own. A strained marriage that at times feels so magical, light and loving and all things wonderful. And others feels dark and suffocating, like tendrils wrapping around her throat until her vision swims with dark. She pushes the memory back, instead letting her eyes rest on the dreaming glory so perfectly encased in resin, looking as fresh as the day it was plucked. It’s a bittersweet thing, the memory of a lost love aching too, but in a different way, almost a comfort because a piece of the woman never truly left. Her essence humming inside Amalyn’s heart until the end of time. The chair makes a terrible noise as she pulls it out, the marble protesting in a shock to the serenity of the room, an inevitable thing in this world. Peace never lasts long. She takes out the black, leather bound book, looking old but not worn, as if it’d seen little use. Truly it hadn’t, oftentimes she’d throw herself into something new, a project, or her work, instead of taking the time to reflect back on her life. You cannot dwell on the present or past when you are always looking forward to the future. But that meant running away, and oftentimes, you simply have nowhere else to go. The priestess pulls out her black feather quill, her favorite and a staple to her desktop’s decor, and opens the book, the spine cracking with disuse. She thinks for a moment, but decides to just let her thoughts flow out as they come, as she lays its tip to the page. ~~~~~ I sometimes look at my life and wonder how I got to where I am today. A husband, a child, a small army of people at my beck and call, willing to give their lives for me just because someone pays them to. I’ve had people under my command as well, I practically ran a small town and provided not only physical healing services for them but mental ones too. And now I carry a banner I previously held before, because their ideals and philosophy are most aligned to what we are trying to do, and yet I feel like a stranger to them. I’ve been on a mission, yes, but I had no time prior to get to know any of them, not even the leader whom I’ve sworn my loyalty to, was I able to get a word in with. I’ve sat for hours in the infirmary, I’ve healed the hurt and sick, and yet I feel like a transient, a passerby who is merely a useful ghost in a time of need. Outside of my family, I do not feel like I have people relying on me, looking up to me for answers to their life’s problems, and it frightens me that that is what I hinge my life’s worth on. It’s not enough that I am a faithful wife, or a loving mother, but that I only feel fulfilled anymore when I can solve others problems and bring peace to this world. I wonder what will happen when I can no longer fight. When my children have long left our home and my body deems it’s time to give up, what will I do then? Will I be able to deal with those feelings of inadequacy, or will I have lived a fulfilled enough life by then to be sated in this underlying need? I do want to get to know the people of Sanctuary, I really do. I miss the feeling of having a community, a family, but when I look around I cannot help but feel I am not needed. An outcast, of sorts. I’ve devoted my life to the light, to healing wounds and easing troubles minds, but as war winds down, what do those of us who know nothing but it do? Ha, I speak as if I’m some war-weary veteran with grey hair and countless scars to match, but if I think about it, war is really all I know. I completed my studies at the academy and immediately fell into working alongside my husband, a man I met before I was even finished becoming a full-fledged paladin. It wasn’t until some years later, while I was pregnant with our daughter, did I turn to priesthood and forever changed my life again. But truly, war is all I have known, and it’s something I’d never wish on anyone else in this world. I’ve tried to protect our daughter from it, but she’s at that age where she’s becoming much more aware of her surroundings, of the world and all of it’s horrors, and I cannot stop it. I would never lie to her, I never have, but sometimes I yearn for the days when she was still a sweet little bundle I could so easily hold against my breast. When calming her and making her happy was as easy as humming a soft tune and holding her close. I long for the days when my husband came home every night. But that- that is for another time, I think. I worry, though, for befriending the people of Sanctuary. Will I be able to open myself up again? Can I allow myself to be vulnerable and allow myself to be loved? Am I even deserving of such love after everything I’ve allowed to happen? I suppose I should speak to my husband on it. He so easily endears himself to others and is beloved by so many, it was no shock I had been so taken by him all those years ago. And it is no surprise I still devote my life to him after all we’ve been through, concerns for my daughter aside. It has been quite some time since I last wrote in this journal, its spine still sturdy and intact, perhaps I should change that. ~~~~~ Amalyn puts the book away, sets the quill back into its resting place, and leans back in her chair as she lets her eyes close. She feels weary and old, spread too thin and yet fearing it’s never enough. Always feeling like she could do more. Help more. Give more people aid and bring more people peace. Right others wrongs and still be a loving wife and mother all along the way. A soft knock sounds at the door and from the other side she hears, “Mama?” It’s late, Saturna should be in bed by now. “Come in my love.” The tension and tiredness she’d been holding onto seeps out of her a bit, just enough to allow a smile to touch her lips as her daughter peeks her head into the room. She opens her arms and motions of the girl to come join her at the desk, concern for the look on her face. “I had a bad dream.” The girl whines as she wraps her arms around her waist and buries her face into Amalyn’s bosom, the priestess wrapping her own arms around the girl tight as she sits in her lap. “I’m sorry sweetheart, want me to make it better?” She kisses the top of the girl’s head as her hands rub up and down her back, the girl nodding yes as she cuddles in close. It’s all she needs before she starts humming a soft tune, one she came up with when Saturna was still a babe, as she lets some of her magic do it’s work. Within minutes the girl is asleep, her face relaxed, no trace of the nightmare that had plagued her before remaining on her soft and porcelain features. The room grows quiet again, a piece of peace settling across the pair in the hush of night as Amalyn is left once more with her contemplation of life. Amalyn - Twisting Nether - Horde
  12. 1 point
    Many would claim it is not even a house anymore. While technically correct... Who cares? Welcome to The House: Season 3, an Azerothian reality show created by Razz Blastwhistle and seized by Flashlens entertainment, now forfeited into the hands of a new collaborative team. The House is an RP event that will take place entirely in discord whose events will reflect a day by day passage of time. It welcomes both the Horde and the Alliance as contestants or as Audience members. The main focus of the show is to broaden horizons and put characters into a place to interact with others they would not normally be around. More information about the house is available on the Discord channel as well as the channel to apply for a spot on the show! All applications are due by July 16th with Day 1 to begin on July 17th! https://discord.gg/WZkPMb
  13. 1 point
    The butler, at first, tried to ignore Pelande as she struck the metal bars and called out. But she was insistent. A maid was eyeing her too, nervous. The situation in the city had everyone on edge. The butler called her over and she shuffled over inquisitively. “Inform our security,” he demanded in a hiss. The maid nodded fearfully and headed inside with haste. Thanks to the circumstances in Suramar they didn’t have the usual contingent of guards keeping watch over their gates. The manor only had its private unit, enough to keep watch over the masters of the place. As he got closer, he realized he recognized this woman. That laborer, again? Even in times like these she somehow found a way to make a nuisance of herself. He’d had to turn her away countless times in the past. She was holding up a piece of parchment, the bill, against the metal bars to show it to him as she usually did. “Call your Master,” Pelande was saying, “or I’ll increase the interest rate again.” “Begone with you. They have more important matters at hand.” She let out a mock-sigh as he dared to come closer, “Come now. Are you telling me the owners of such a lavish place can’t afford to at least make a minimum payment against their bills?” The butler snarled out, “Begone!” Pelande shook her head. “It’d be a shame to have to report this place for being in debt--the guards have been taking a lot of liberty with that lately, I hear, snatching up entire arcwine stores…” He had a bit of coin on him for paying couriers and for deliveries, and thus he begrudgingly dragged it out, heading over to the fence… Only to be completely run through. Pelande let the bill flutter to the ground, and pulled her spear out of the butler and back through the bars of the gate. She then stepped back, swung, and struck twice at precise points at each gate-hinge, just out of the way as it fell to the stones on the ground. It certainly did help, knowing all the little weak points of a building. Security was already rushing out to meet her as she stepped over the body, and she prepared herself for combat. Unfortunately for them, they were not even as experienced as the average city guard, and before long, one, two, and then three had fallen to her spear… but soon it became apparent that what they lacked in experience they had in number. Pelande found herself surrounded by at least a dozen, and thus, let out the agreed-upon signal--a whistle. There came a deafening sound as a ring of explosions went off around the walled courtyard. She’d made sure they were placed right against the main supports so as each went off, the walls crumbled like a sandcastle against the tides. The security forces were thrown into chaos and Pelande herself had to shield her eyes against the ensuing dust cloud. But out of it rushed her salvation. And as much work as she’d put into building those walls, it kind of felt good to watch them come down. That's what you get for not paying your debts! She wasted no time, only quickly confirming the presence of her allies before heading into the manor building itself. Two maids were trying to barricade the door but were no match for her as she kicked it down, and they fled. There was no sense in killing them as the important thing now was to keep moving and head toward the apex of the building as she’d been instructed. Hopefully, the Commander’s plan would work.
  14. 1 point
    Full Name: Syreena Shadowblade Titles or Nicknames: Shadowblade, Little Sister, 'Reena, Sy, Viper Age: Died of the plague somewhere around 18 Race: Forsaken Gender: Female Hair: Purplish Red Eyes: Yellow Height: 5'0" Weight: 80 lbs Notable Physical Features: Identical twin to Anaie, though she appears a bit younger and thinner. Her flesh is a patchwork of mismatched skin. Her teeth have all been filed into jagged points. There is a purple voidscar on her neck. Place of residence: Grim hall in Tirisfal Glades or her new farm near Andorhal. Place of Birth: A farm near Andorhal Known Relatives: Derrick Breen, Father (dead); Melinda Breen, Mother (dead); Laurel Breen, youngest Sister (dead); Anaie Breen, Twin sister (now Forsaken). Her family name is not widely know. Religion/Philosophy: Peace through annihilation Occupation: Rogue, Alchemist, Grim Inquisitor Guild Rank: Dreadweaver Known Associates: The Grim, Baal'themar, Tahzani Known Nemesis: All Alliance, Cessily, Lovely, Svetlaena, Eternal Aegis, the Mackinzie sisters, Sanctuary especially Kex'ti Dalendala and Cerryan Vrel Special Skills: Sneakiness, lock picking, assassination, perfect aim with snowballs Positive Personality Traits: Extremely loyal to friends and guild mates. Very protective of them as well, having been known, on several occasions, to put herself in danger to protect them. Negative Personality Traits: Can be sneaky, dishonest, manipulative if it's for a good cause (according to her), racist against elves. Very vengeful against those who are perceived to have wronged her or someone she cares about. Usually believes her crimes and cruelties are justified and deserved. Interesting Possessions: An elekk plushie from Cen, Geodorik Deepwater's mechanical hand, a bagful of personal effects from Symorick Tyrrell's coffin, a carved wooden horse from Draquesha, a magical vase from Qabian. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- History: During life, she was raised by a drunken old alchemist. He taught her to steal to fund his gambling addiction. He also taught her to find herbs and create potions to help with his livelihood. She learned to sneak and kill out of necessity. She died in an Andorhal prison from the plague, and later rose as a servant of the Lich King before being freed by the Dark Lady's call. History In The Grim: Syreena joined The Grim four months after it was founded. Since then, she has improved her killing skills. She's become a competent killer for the Mandate, and has helped train the other Grim rogues. During her time in The Grim, she was reunited with her twin sister, Anaie. The greatest compliment she's ever received was from someone who proposed marriage to her, and she turned him down only because he was not Grim. He laughed and said, "You are Grim through and through." Shortly after the Dark Portal opened, Syreena became the Dreadweaver in charge of all Grim rogues. She excelled at killing, and she taught the other rogues her techniques or helped them perfect their own. She spent much time helping The Grim kill things in old magic towers and underwater caverns. She also spent a great deal in the goblin arenas with Duranor's Irregulars and smaller teams. Around this time she also ran into the old gambler who raised her in life. He was also undead by now, and Syreena spent some time playing mind games with him, intending to kill him when she was finished toying with him. Unfortunately, he slipped away, and she still has plans to find him again some day to make him pay for the way he treated her. Around the time the Horde sailed for Northrend, Syreena became the guild master of The Grim. During this time, Grims bestowed upon her the title of Shadowblade, which she later adopted as her last name. She was in charge for one year, while also killing in Ulduar and the Lich King's Citadel with a team of Grims that called themselves the Puppies. The two roles ended up at odds with each other, preventing the little rogue from being effective or comfortable with either. Eventually, feeling like she was constantly being torn in two, she quit both positions, returning the guild to Abric. She stepped back into the shadows for a while. After the Cataclysm, for a short time, Syreena was the overseer of the teams fighting threats to the Horde other than the Alliance, though she rarely participated herself. Then, when someone else finally stepped up to take over that job, she returned to the relatively responsibility free rank of Harbinger for the remainder of that period. In Pandaria, Syreena enjoyed her time as Harbinger. She started training some of her many pets for combat, she learned to tend to plants, and she again participated in large scale battle with The Grim in places like the Throne of Thunder and when Orgrimmar was under siege. Then came the day she was called to duty once again. The High Inquisitor was in need of an assistant and had chosen her. After some thought, she decided that becoming an Inquisitor may be the best way she could shape the future of The Grim, and she accepted. Not too long after that, the High Inquisitor retired, and Syreena stepped into that role. She enjoyed testing the new Grims in various ways, sometimes without them even knowing they were being tested Her purpose was to train the new Grims in the ways of the old Grims, to preserve the ways of the Mandate, and to instill in them the desire to achieve peace through annihilation. A few months after the portal to Draenor opened, conflict arose between Sanctuary and The Grim. A rogue Sanctuary member nearly killed a Grim in an unprovoked attack. In anger and revenge, Syreena attacked another Sanctuary member. She failed to kill him, however, and worse, was identified. As punishment for her failure, she was demoted back down to Harbinger, and assigned the task of destroying any traitors to the Horde. She did manage to kill a few other Sanctuary members, but her original Sanctuary target bested her when she faced him again, and he cut off her left ear. Under Grim orders, she captured and helped torture a prominent member of the Alliance; in turn, she herself was taken prisoner by the Alliance and scheduled for execution after her memory had been partially erased. A small team of Horde broke her out of the Stockade in Stormwind and helped her escape. For the remainder of the Draenor campaign, the Shadowblade spent most of her time hunting Alliance in Tanaan Jungle, promoting the conflict between The Grim and Sanctuary, and violently retaliating against anyone she perceived to have wronged a Grim. She also spent some time working on a new Plague of Undeath, and testing it on unsuspecting subjects, mostly without success. After a spree of attacks against Sanctuary members, Syreena suffered the consequences at the hands of Cerryan, who pinned her to a wall with a sword infused with Holy Light. Burning inside and out, she was left there until Julilee and Lilliana came for her. Julilee wanted to execute her, but Liliana fought her off and returned the burned rogue to the Grim halls. Baal'themar took her to his secret cabin for Nathandiel to tend to her. Over the next several months, Nathandiel was able to mostly patch her up, with a few modifications, such as some synthetic parts and her teeth filed into jagged points. During most of the Legion campaign, Syreena tried to steer clear of Sanctuary, spending time fighting the Legion alongside The Grim. She bought a farm near Andorhal. She employed Borrowed Time to search for an old friend, but the search was unsuccessful. She did find success, however, in attaining some long overdue vengeance on members of Eternal Aegis. She acquired the girl known as 'The Shard', killed Geodorik Deepwater, and raised a dead Dr. Symorick Tyrrell as her undead slave. An Eclipse happened during this period, and Syreena swayed back and forth between helping the "good guys" and helping Karthok, who was the prime force trying to summon Accalia. The resulting Nightmare was a frustrating scenario where Syreena questioned her own identity and that of members of The Grim and Sanctuary, leaving her confused for weeks after. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stories: A Rogue's Diary - Ongoing journal. Assassin for Peace - Syreena's conflict with Sanctuary. Broken - Syreena's mental breakdown. Nightmare: Reunions - Syreena faces her worst fears in the end of the Eclipse conflict. The Hunt for Hollowrot - The Grim hunts Morinth, a new threat. Revenge Overdue - Syreena tracks down her tormentor from Life. The Prisoner - The Grim captures and tortures a prominent Alliance member. Chats with a Cockroach - Syreena is taken prisoner by the Alliance. The Shard - Syreena is still a prisoner of the Alliance and eventually scheduled for execution. Extreme Justice - Syreena attacks Sanctuary and suffers the consequences. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Syreena Breen, aka, Syreena Shadowblade of The Grim has allegedly committed the following crimes: • Y13-20, Andorhal – Various trespassing, breaking and entering, and theft charges. • Y18-20, Andorhal, Lucky Mug Tavern – Drugging the drinks of unsuspecting patrons in order to rob them after they passed out from the effects of the drug. • Y20 – Andorhal outskirts – Murder of 16 year old Emily Jameson in her rural home. • Y20 – Andorhal prison – Unauthorized reanimation as a Scourge after dying to the Plague. Unauthorized departure from the prison. • Y20-23, Lordaeron – Various warmongering and murder charges, as a Scourge. • Y24 – Scarlet Monastery – Brutal murder of a Scarlet Crusade canine member. Unauthorized departure and escape from the dungeon. (Suspected accomplice: Anaie) • Y25 – Felwood – Involved in brutal murders of several mages in Satyr camps known to be rich in felcloth. (Suspected accomplice: Lucion) • Y26 – Stranglethorn – Involved in the attempted murder of Grim Sin’dorei, Cessily Suntouch (Suspected accomplice: Anaie) • Y26 – Stranglethorn – Involved in the attempted murder of Grim Sin’dorei, Lovely Bloodstorm (Suspected accomplice: Anaie) • Y26 – Shattrath, outside Lower City – Murder and mutilation of unidentified female adolescent troll. • Y26 – Shattrath, Scryer’s Bank – Involved in impersonating bank tellers to steal deposits from patrons. (Suspected accomplice: Anaie) • Y27 – Dalaran – Involved in the attempted murder of Grim Sin’dorei couple, Svetlaena and Duroxas Quel’Ivan, by sending them a poisoned pie. Attempted to frame Elder Ashenfury, The Grim’s High Inquisitor at the time. (Suspected accomplice: Anaie) There are no entries for the next few years. • Y31 – Nagrand (Draenor) – Assault on Sanctuary Sin’dorei, Kex’ti Dalendala with intent to kill. • Y31 – Sanctuary garrison – Attempted assault on Sanctuary by delivering poisoned candy during the Love is in the Air holiday season. • Y31 – Grim garrison – Murder of goblin messenger who delivered poisoned candy to Sanctuary garrison. • Y31 – Spires of Arak – Attempted murder of Sanctuary Tauren lawyer by antagonizing Alliance death knights to attack him. • Y31 – Frostfire Ridge – Attempted murder of Sanctuary orc, Nazshakul. (Suspected accomplices: Konro Stormreaver, Lilliana Bloodshine, Lupinum—because they were bored) • Y31 – Talador – Brutal slaying and dismemberment of a Draenei female. Sending severed body parts and addictive herbs through the goblin postal and delivery service. • Y31 – Talador – Brutal slaying and dismemberment of several Draenei females. Sending severed body parts and addictive herbs through the goblin postal and delivery service. • Y31 – Warspear – Murder and dismemberment of an unidentified black-haired Sin’dorei male. Sending severed body parts and addictive herbs through the goblin postal and delivery service. • Y31 – Icecrown – Interfering at a Mok’gara, attempted assault on Breygrah Ragetotem, assault on Kex’ti Dalendala with intent to kill. • Y31 – Orgrimmar – Assault on Darethy Voidblade. • Y31 – Warspear – Assault on Breygrah Ragetotem with intent to kill. • Y31 – Warspear – Assault on Siane Dawnlight with intent to kill. • Y31 – Home of Darethy Voidblade – Stabbing of Darethy’s wife, Alfirin. • Y31 – Vol’mar – Involved in the assault and mutilation of Cerryan Vyel. (Suspected accomplice: Lilliana Bloodshine) • Y31 – Desolace – Assault on Grim, Kerala Windchaser. (Suspected accomplices: Malhavik Undercroft, Orphyn) • Y31 – Frostfire Ridge – Capture of Siane Dawnlight. (Suspected accomplice: Orphyn) • Y31 – Darkmoon Faire – Involved in the assault on Sanctuary members Commander Julilee Liene, Cerryan Vyel, and Taozhu. (Suspected accomplices: Ley’ujin Zeygosa, Orphyn) • Y31 – Frostfire Ridge – Attempted murder of Siane Dawnlight and her bodyguard, Ny’shra. • Y31 August – Tanaris – Suspected in the disappearance of Forsaken alchemist Aleister Hornsby. • Y31 November – Northern Barrens – Abduction and torture of Chancellor Skylah Mackinzie of the Twilight Empire. (Suspected accomplices: Shaelie Brightwing, Filora Livlet, Lilliana Bloodshine, Tesonii Inbetween, Khorvis Bloodstar) • Y31 December –Stormwind – Escape from the Stormwind Stockade. (Suspected accomplices: Kex’ti Dalendala, Lilliana Bloodshine, Zanas Autumnvale, Gnarrdog) • Y32 January -- Manufacture and delivery, with intent ot harm, contaminated sweets to various guilds and establishments around Azeroth. • Y32 February – Warspear – Assault on Thaldis Dawnstrike, stabbing of Shokkra Deathrage. (Suspected accomplices: Shaelie Brightwing, Baalthemar) • Y32 May -- Manufacture and delivery, with intent to harm, contaminated baked goods to orphanages around Azeroth. • Y32 May -- Warspear -- Assault on Isadora Arath'dorei (Suspected accomplice: Baal'themar Dawnsorrow) • Y32 July -- Warspear -- Assault and mutilation of Sen'ahri of Sanctuary. • Y32 August -- The Cleft of Shadow, Orgrimmar -- Attempted murder of Kanda of Sanctuary. • Y33? December -- Scarlet Monestary Graveyard -- Participated in a necromancy ritual to raise and enslave a former paladin. (Suspected accomplice: Malkaris Darkfire, Khorvis Bloodstar, Qabian Grimfire) Timeline Key: Y20 – Plague of Undeath, Y22 – Forsaken rise, Y26 – Outland, Y27 – Northrend, Y28 – Cataclysm, Y30 – Pandaria, Y31 – Draenor, Y32 August -- Broken Isles